My Moon, My Man
by Isobel Morgan
Summary: I've always tried to resist writing Howince/Vinward fluff, but this one sort of escaped. Hope it's not too dreadful.


I've always tried to resist writing fluff, but this one sort of escaped. Hope it's not too dreadful.

**My Moon My Man**

Vince Noir was humming to himself as he got out the shower, wrapping a striped towel around his waist. He carefully stowed the plastic shower cap at the back of the medicine cabinet – couldn't have anyone seeing that, could he? Everyone might know the care he put into his hair, but to be seen wearing a granny-style shower cap would never do his street cred any good – and left the bathroom, heading back to his bedroom. The radio in the corner was still playing, providing a nice background noise as he dried himself off and began dressing, slipping into his favourite black skinny jeans.

As he opened the wardrobe and started pulling out t-shirts, trying to decide what to wear, he realised that even a long hot shower hadn't removed the glow from his skin. The glow from last night. From Howard.

Vince stopped, his hand on the handle of the wardrobe door, immersed in memory, his heart rate increasing as he recalled the events of the previous evening.

Such an innocent start, a night out with friends, coming home to find Howard watching late-night TV in the otherwise empty flat.

"Anything good on?" Vince had asked as he grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge, narrowly avoiding picking the similarly bottled "Naboo's Grow-Your-Own-Shoes Mix" and not even noticing.

"Ah, you missed a classic, Vince," Howard had replied, taking one of the beers and shifting along the sofa to make room.

"A four hour documentary on the Potato Lampshade movement."

"The what?"

"Potato Lampshade. It's a very important genre of eastern cinema, Vince. I'm surprised you haven't heard of these films."

Vince thought about it.

"Is Brad Pitt in any of them?"

"They were made in 1926, Vince. Unless he has access to a time machine, then no, Brad Pitt isn't in any of them."

And so they'd sat together, drinking beer and watching random TV until the small hours.

Thinking back on it, Vince wasn't quite sure exactly how it had happened. Maybe he'd had more to drink at the Purple Zip Club than he'd realised.

Whatever it was, as he'd stretched out to get more comfortable, he'd ended up leaning against his friend's shoulder, almost snuggling into him. Automatically, Howard had put his arm around him, as if they were on a date at the cinema. Neither seemed to realise what had happened, and from that point it just seemed natural that it would lead to a kiss.

Vince couldn't remember what he'd been thinking as their lips met, just that it had felt right, something that he'd wanted for a long time, even if he hadn't known it.

And then they'd fallen asleep on the sofa together, arms wrapped around each other, and Vince had woken to the sensation of Howard's breath against his cheek.

For a moment, he'd lain there, safe in the arms of his oldest friend, and realised just how much Howard meant to him.

But it wasn't to last.

The door to the flat was flung open with a crash, bringing a blast of freezing air with it that shocked both men upright, wide awake.

Naboo looked over at his two friends on the sofa, both startled and blushing.

"Morning," he called, grinning. He didn't say anything else, didn't need to. He didn't have to be a shaman to know what was going on between Howard and Vince. All he could think then was "Finally!"

As Vince thought back on the events of the previous night, he felt the hairs on his arms raise up, a small shiver going down his spine. The interruption in the morning had stopped him and Howard from discussing the kiss, and Howard had dashed off to some jazz meet or other all day. Maybe when he got back…

A new song came on the radio and he resumed his humming, returning his attention to the wardrobe. What shirt would be best...?

Howard Moon closed the door to the flat, whistling a lively tune, keys jingling in his hand. The cheerful mood he'd been in all day wavered slightly, unsure of what would greet him. Last night seemed like a perfect dream, and he'd been so afraid it hadn't been real, he'd run straight off to the Monsters of Jazz Festival with Lester Corncrake, rather than face the possibility that Vince would regret the kiss, that he'd been drunk, just horny, or thinking about somebody else.

While Howard had always known he cared for Vince deeply, he hadn't realised how strong the feelings were. In the brief moment when everything had changed, it had been like a puzzle fitting together, the one spontaneous action opening a door in his mind. But was that really how things were? Did Vince feel the same, or was Howard fooling himself?

He'd known Vince forever, knew exactly what he was like. A butterfly, flitting from one person to the next. The number of times he'd fielded calls from hopeful girls - and sometimes boys - looking for a date, angry or upset women Vince had slept with and then lost interest in. Howard dropped his jacket down on the sofa and turned towards his room, but then it registered on him that it wasn't just music he could hear. Vince was in his bedroom, singing along to the radio, and Howard could hear some of the words.

He moved closer.

"_My Moon, my man  
So changeable and  
Such a loveable lamb to me_"

My care, my coat  
Leave on a high note  
There's nowhere to go but on

Heart on my sleeve  
Not where it should be  
The song's out of key again

The door was open, Howard could see Vince wandering around, picking up various items of discarded clothing, holding them against himself, then dropping them again.

Vince stopped in front of the mirror; Howard could see his full reflection, Vince's slight frame clad only in skinny jeans, the burn scar across his torso from – what was it Vince had said? Fallen asleep on his hair straighteners, that was it.

"_Take it slow  
Take it easy on me  
And shed some light  
Shed some light on me please_"

Vince was grinning. Picked up a close-fitting t-shirt with glittery lips emblazoned upon it and pulled it over his head.

"_My Moon. My Man_."

He looked up and his eyes locked onto Howard's, reflected in the mirror as he stood in the doorway watching him. He paused, then grinned again.

Howard stood still for a moment, then he smiled back, a soft, silly grin that showed all his affection.

"Alright?" Vince called over the music.

"Alright," Howard returned. "You off out tonight?"

"No. Thought I'd stay in. Quiet night in front of the telly."

"Oh right. There's a documentary on about the Flatcap Yellow Association if you fancy it?"

Howard tried to keep the hopefulness from his voice, but couldn't. He was nervous, even if he wasn't quite sure why.

"Yeah. Alright." Vince had no idea what Howard was talking about, but all the same, he turned back to the mirror for one last check of his appearance, decided it would do, and went to join his friend on the sofa.

Outside, the full Moon shone down on the flat, and he was grinning too.

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the Boosh, more's the pity, and lyrics belong to Feist, but the other stuff's mine, for which I can only apologise.


End file.
